


Love Starts With a Toothbrush

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Brushing teeth, Buck is a handyman, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, I gave them a second child, I have seven dollars, M/M, Moving In Together, Redecorating, Songfic, Toothbrush, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Wedding Planning, go for it, it's just fluff, sue me, that's all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: "Everything that's anything/starts out as a little thing/just needs a little time and room to grow/step by step/day by day/it all adds up along the way ..."Buck and Eddie's relationship, told mostly through important toothbrush moments.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 179





	Love Starts With a Toothbrush

**Author's Note:**

> I really should be banned from listening to country radio in the car, but this is completely and utterly inspired by Brad Paisley’s song “Toothbrush.” Start to finish, it came together in less than 24 hours, which seems to happen every time I listen to the radio, so here we are. Again. If you haven’t listened to that yet, check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hm-PWRbBbJc

Buck looks at himself in the mirror, pondering his own reflection and the way the white foam covers his chin before breaking his own eye contact and tipping his chin back. He focuses his gaze on his jawline as he pulls the razor over his skin, watching the blades slice through the light stubble and push the shaving cream out of the way. 

His touch is light, his strokes are careful, and he can’t think of a time he’s shaved more carefully since he was 17 and half-convinced that he’d slit his own throat with a Bic safety razor identical to the one he’s holding now. 

The stakes tonight are equally high, just as life-or-death, but in an entirely different way. He thinks about it as he rinses the razor, flicks his thumb downward across the blades to clear any stuck hairs from between them. He’s going out for dinner with Eddie, just like they’ve done probably hundreds of times in the time they’ve been friends. This time is different though, in the way Eddie couldn’t look him in the eye when he asked, the way he’d tentatively added “… it could be a date, if you’re OK with that,” when he’d mentioned an Indian restaurant he’d been meaning to try. 

Buck wonders if Eddie is feeling the same amount of pressure he is tonight, if he’d tried on half a dozen shirts before settling on his favorite go-to, then realized that he needed to take the shirt off and shaved before he gets dressed. 

Part of him hopes that Eddie isn’t so uncertain about the night they’re going to share, hopes that he’ll have enough bravado for them both. But he also wants this to mean as much to Eddie as it means to him. 

Because it means _everything_ , he realizes as he drags a wet washcloth across his skin, lets the warm water clean the last dregs of shaving cream from his face and rinses it out. He leans up over the sink, examining his skin closely to make sure he didn’t miss any stray hairs. As blond as he is, it’s not like they’ll show up, but he still wants to make sure everything is perfect tonight. 

Satisfied with the shave, he shakes the razor dry and sets it back in the medicine cabinet, reaching for the tube of toothpaste on the shelf above.

He squirts a blob of the mint-flavored gel onto his toothbrush and sticks it into his mouth. Dental health isn’t usually such a focus for Buck; most of the time he squishes the foam around his mouth and spits as soon as every tooth is mostly brushed. 

Tonight, though, he scrubs every tooth carefully: front, back and top. He angles the brush down to get his gum line, and even gags himself when he brushes his tongue. It might be the first and only time he’s actually brushed for two minutes, and he briefly wonders how weird it would be for him to call his dentist in the morning and brag. 

Very weird, he decides as he plucks a soft blue paper cup from the dispenser on the counter and fills it with water to rinse his mouth out. As the foam swirls down the drain, he rubs his favorite aftershave across his hands and his hands over his face, wincing at the sting against the freshly shaven skin.

It’s the scent he saves for special occasions; he can’t remember the last time he wore it, the last time something felt important enough to warrant the high-quality leather notes that pair perfectly with the fresh citrus scent of his best cologne.

He grabs his shirt from where he’s hung it on the shower door handle and shrugs it on. The buttons are straightforward, but take just enough time that he decides he needs to run a comb lightly through the edges of his hair again.

When that’s done, he looks down at his phone. _7:28_ , the screen reads, and Eddie is supposed to pick him up at 7:30. He makes it halfway down the steps, though, before he’s turning around and ducking back into the bathroom long enough to swish some mouthwash around and rinse it down the sink.

_It’ll probably wear off before they’re even through eating, but hey, who can blame a guy for trying?_

Buck doesn’t think about it again until Eddie is walking him up to the front door at the end of the night. But the hope that the mouthwash is lingering on his breath is his last coherent thought as Eddie backs him up against his doorbell and leans in for what has to be the longest single kiss Buck has ever had.

They’re both breathing hard when Eddie breaks away, lingering just long enough to murmur a ‘goodnight’ against his lips before he walks away, leaving Buck standing there in a daze, hoping he’s not imagining the minty taste Eddie left behind in his mouth. 

* * *

Two years later, to the day, they’re dropping Chris off at Pepa’s, promising to pick him up on Sunday night and waving from Eddie’s truck as they back down the driveway. Buck looks at Eddie as they turn the corner, sees the way he’s worrying his bottom lip. 

“Hey, you’re sure about this? We can go pick him up, bring him with us. Or ditch the plan altogether, do the big ceremony in a few months.”

“No, I’m sure. I want to marry you tonight. And I like the idea of that being just for us.” Eddie sighs, and Buck wishes he believed him. “I just … feel bad for lying about the double shifts all weekend, telling Bobby we needed the days off for a ‘family thing.’”

“This is a family thing. It’s us, becoming a family. Legally.” Buck rests his hand on Eddie’s hand, wrapped around the gearshift. 

“We’re already family, Buck.”

“I know, but this makes it official. And we’ll talk to Bobby and Athena when we get back, see if we can borrow their backyard for a big reception. Everything else can be for everyone else, but this? This here, our wedding? It’s for us.” 

Eddie nods and releases his lip.

“Yeah. You … you’re right. Pre-wedding jitters, am I right?”

They laugh together, relaxing as Eddie drives them a couple hours up the coast. He’s not sure where they’re going, taking directions from Buck, who’s reading off of a list of turns he’s scribbled on the back of a junk mail credit card application.

He’d taken every other aspect of this to the _n_ -th degree, as soon as Eddie suggested that they stop trying to plan the perfect wedding for their friends and family and just have the perfect wedding for them. Just the two of them, wearing the best suits they already owned and brand new matching ties, standing somewhere beautiful and private to pledge their lives to each other. 

Buck had looked for close to a week before finding the perfect spot: a tiny beachfront town with a little wedding chapel. He’d found the referral on a same-sex wedding forum, with a litany of stories and photos from couples praising the picturesque waters and friendly staff, willing to personalize intimate ceremonies for a reasonable cost.

All he had asked Eddie to do was make sure their bags were packed and pick him a ring. Everything else was a surprise, from Eddie’s brushed steel wedding band with its fine gold stripe pressed into the pocket of Buck’s jeans to the three tiny crystals on the tie clips: each of their birthstones and Christopher’s in the middle.

The ceremony is everything they could have imagined; every last detail Buck planned went off without a hitch. And he couldn’t help but privately noticing that the officiant who pronounced them husband and husband resembled the surviving half of the elderly gay couple he’d met on the car accident scene only a couple of months after Eddie came into his life. 

Mitchell, he’s pretty sure.

It’s coincidence, he’s sure, but it feels fitting nonetheless. Even if it was still over a year before their first date, talking to that man, hearing him tell Buck that a truly lasting love is made, not found, was a pivotal moment in his relationship with Eddie. It was the first time he let himself consider making something more than a friendship with him, so it feels fitting that Mitchell would visit him again today, give him a sign that he’s in the right place, marrying the right person for him.

Not that he needed a sign, not after he saw the way Eddie’s eyes watered when he ran his finger across Buck’s tie, understanding the gems the moment he saw them. 

He knew he was making the right choice. 

Even if he did have to go all the way down to the lobby of their hotel that night, get a couple of flimsy plastic toothbrushes from the desk agent.

“Really, Eddie? The only thing you had to do was pack our bags. You got the suits, you got my shampoo, but you left our toothbrushes on the counter?” He rolled his eyes as Eddie shook the toiletries bag open on the bedspread, no toothbrushes to be found. 

Of course, Eddie was fresh out of the shower, so it fell on Buck to go downstairs, sheepishly explain that he hadn’t packed for their trip (even if he did preen a little bit when he said ‘my husband was in charge of the luggage,’ the new title feeling perfectly at home on his tongue) and ask if they had any for sale. 

The clerk had come back with two barely opaque white-handled brushes that Buck is pretty sure he could have broken in half easier than a pencil. But they’re free, and they’re better than nothing, so he smiles gratefully at her and accepts the brushes and packets of toothpaste.

After their teeth are brushed, when Eddie is tucked in and waiting for Buck to join him in bed for their first night as a married couple, he snaps a quick picture of the cheap toothbrushes. 

It’s the sort of story that will make a good memory years from now, he knows already, and he never wants to forget this moment. He never wants to forget the way he feels two days later, either, packing up to leave and slipping the disposable toothbrushes into the bottom of his bag, tucking them away to be remembered and laughed about later. 

Their love wasn’t found; they made it between toothbrushes and minty fresh kisses along the way.

* * *

The first day off Buck and Eddie have together as husbands is spent boxing Buck’s loft and moving his life into Eddie’s home. 

_Their home._

They’d talked about it, over breakfast on the beach the day after their wedding, thrown around the idea of buying a new house, a place that they picked together and decorated as a family. But ultimately, they decided that Eddie’s place was almost perfectly located between the station and Christopher’s school, it was already accessible for him, and Buck has long felt at home in Eddie’s living room.

He didn’t need a new house, he just needed Eddie in his bed and Christopher right down the hall, every night for the rest of his life. 

So he’s the only one moving, a whopping 17 minutes from where he had lived. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Especially when Eddie suggests redecorating after Buck gets settled, giving the house a new feel for their new lives together. It’s just turning to summer, the days growing warmer and longer enough that they can start with the backyard. Eddie puts out grass seed, plants a couple of twigs that will hopefully grow into lemon and orange trees. 

Buck takes it upon himself to watch a dozen YouTube videos and visit the hardware store, borrowing Eddie’s truck to haul cords of lumber home with the promise of a picket fence around the back of the house. 

He’s never built a fence before, but Bobby lends him a small table saw, spends an afternoon standing in the yard and teaching him how to use it before leaving him to finish building his fence. As with everything, Buck throws himself completely into the project; every spare moment he’s got is enough time to cut a couple of boards, drill a few holes. 

It’s one of the most fun projects he’s ever embarked on, especially when Christopher starts joining him in the backyard, plopping down on the fresh grass with a book and reading out loud to him, or telling him stories from his latest sleepover. Sometimes, when he’s got a brand new board, all 10-feet of it to control against the vibration of the saw blade, he’ll ask Chris for a hand. He’s got a tiny pair of safety goggles, bulky enough to go over his regular glasses, and kid-sized work gloves, and he’s always excited to help hold the long end of the board, tiptoeing forward as Buck pushes his end across the saw blade. 

Digging the post holes is its own kind of challenge, especially when driving his foot against the top of the shovel makes the pain in his leg flare up. But for those moments, Eddie is there. He’s always watching Buck out the kitchen window or from the back deck; Buck can feel his gaze following him around the yard, especially when the high heat of the summer gets the best of him and he pulls his T-shirt off. 

But when his leg start to hurt, almost like Eddie can feel the pain too, he appears beside Buck, pulls the shovel gently from his hands. 

“Here, I got it,” he says, squeezing Buck’s arm gently. “I’ll dig for a bit.” When Buck starts to protest, tries to tell Eddie that he’s fine, he can keep working, Eddie raises an eyebrow. “I know you can, but it’s almost lunchtime, and if you don’t cook, I’ll have to.” 

They both know it’s a cop-out. Eddie can handle sandwiches and pouring lemonade from the gallon jug in the fridge. But it means that Buck can take a break, sneak back to the bathroom and swallow a couple Advil when no one is looking, without having to admit that his physical limitations stop him sooner than they did before his myriad of near-death experiences. 

It takes a few months, but then their fence is up, pine boards marking the edges of a backyard that Christopher keeps mentioning is probably big enough that they could get a dog now, since he’d have somewhere to run.

“Maybe for your birthday, Superman.” Eddie ruffles his hair, shares a knowing glance with Buck. The three of them admire the handiwork for a few minutes longer, then Buck jumps and pulls Eddie’s truck keys out of his pocket.

“Ooh, hang on, I forgot the last part. Chris, you up for a trip to the hardware store? Think you can keep me on track?” 

“Sure! Dad, I gotta go make sure Bucky doesn’t get lost.” With that, they’re gone, chasing each other out the new gate and around the house. Buck hears Eddie’s confused shout, and feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He doesn’t have to look at the message to know that Eddie has sent him a long string of question marks, but he and Chris have a mission.

They’re back 45 minutes later, Buck hauling a five-gallon bucket in each hand as he follows Christopher around the back gate. He hears the back door open as he’s taking the plastic sack from Chris and pulling out paint trays and rollers. 

“Alright, what’d we talk about, kiddo?”

“Dad! Buck says I can help paint, but only if you wrap me up in a trash bag first so I don’t get messy!” 

Eddie laughs but leads Chris into the house. They emerge a few minutes later, Chris covered in a trash bag with sloppy holes cut into the bottom for his head and arms. The three of them spend the afternoon painting, and most of the next day too, but when they’re finished, the picket fence is a crisp white, contrasting starkly with the grass around it.

Except the parts of the lawn that got their own coat of white paint, but Buck can’t bring himself to care. The grass will grow, he or Eddie will cut it short and no one will be the wiser. And they’ll still have their backyard, with the white picket fence that he built, for his family. 

He’s pretty sure this sort of thing is the best that his life is ever going to get, that nothing could ever top the feeling of standing here, Eddie’s arm around his waist and Chris leaning against their legs, admiring something they made together. 

* * *

Buck grunts as he lifts their toddler out of the bathtub and wraps him in a towel.

“Jeez, you’re getting big, Trey.” He rubs the 4-year-old’s hair dry and helps him tie the belt on a tiny camouflage-print bathrobe. “Alright, what’s next?” 

“Brush teeth!” He shrieks with delight and grins at his papa. 

“That’s right, let’s go brush your teeth with Daddy and Chris!” Buck scoops him up, without grunting this time since he can get a better angle to lift from, and carries him down the hallway to the master bathroom. Eddie and Christopher are already standing in front of the mirror, trying to untangle Chris’s curly hair enough that it’s not totally insufferable in the morning. 

He’s 11 now, old enough that he can get most of it on his own, but there’s a patch at the back of his head that’s hard to reach, so Eddie helped him with that while Buck and Trey had a rubber duck war in the bathtub. 

“Daddy! Time to brush teeth!” Trey grabs for the side of Eddie’s pants leg as Buck situates him on the step stool beside the counter. “You can help me?” 

They’ve had Trey for almost two years now, and he’s always been very diplomatic about dividing his attention between Buck and Eddie. If Buck helps make his lunch, Eddie can sit with him while he eats. On the days that Eddie drops him off at preschool, he likes it best when Buck picks him up.

When Buck gives him a bath, Eddie helps brush his teeth.

“I sure can, kiddo. Chris, you’re all good. Get those pearly whites, bud.” He passes a tube of bubblegum-flavored toothpaste to his older son, watches him carefully squeeze a blob of it onto a blue toothbrush with a distinctive red ‘S’ logo on the handle. Christopher hands the tube back and jams the brush into his mouth while Eddie reaches for the smallest toothbrush in the cup.

Buck isn’t sure when it started, but somewhere along the way, all four of them started sharing a bedtime routine. Sure, that’s parenting, but this is a little bit more. The boys have their own bathroom, full of plastic boats and low-hanging towel bars, but still all four of them gather in Buck and Eddie’s bathroom at night to brush their teeth together.

He’s scrubbing across his own teeth as he thinks about it, white minty foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. When he catches Christopher looking at him, he turns his head and growls playfully, baring his teeth.

“No, Bucky! Don’t get me!” Chris’ toothbrush is still in his mouth, so the words are distorted and he sprays pinkish flecks all over the mirror when he cries out. 

Buck laughs, splattering his own toothpaste foam to create some sort of abstract bathroom art that he knows Eddie will wipe away while he sees the boys down to their shared bedroom. 

Trey leans back against Eddie’s hip, tipping his chin and opening his mouth.

“-Eddie, -addy!” He tries to say, without moving his jaw. _‘Ready, daddy!’_ they both know it means, and Buck leans forward to spit as Eddie starts brushing carefully through their son’s mouth. He counts the teeth out loud, just like every night, even though the number hasn’t changed since six months after they welcomed him into their home. 

Buck leans back upright, looking at his family in the mirror as he reaches around Chris to take a paper cup from the dispenser he brought with him when he moved in. He fills it with water, freezing when he sees the design on the side.

The water flows over the top of the cup, down his hand, and it’s enough to shake him from his stupor. It shouldn’t have surprised him; he’s the one who’d purchased the box of planet-themed bath cups, remembering how excited Christopher had been to be able to recite all nine planets in order. He’s staring down at a smiling planet, Mars, according to the reddish label beside it. 

Even if it were a surprise, there’s no reason that a Mars cup should stop him in his tracks like this. But he’s suddenly thinking of a different day, a different paper cup in a different bathroom. That cup was blue, plain blue, and he’d stood alone in the bathroom. 

He remembers every detail, the sting of the aftershave and the way the mouthwash tingled against his gums. And he remembers everything that came after, too, right up to Eddie kissing him against his front door. He’d gone inside that night and imagined a future with Eddie and Christopher. But never, not even in his most elaborate fantasies had he dreamed of having all of this. 

This is the most in love Buck has ever been, standing here in the bathroom with his family, watching Eddie hold a light-up toothbrush in one hand and a Jupiter cup in the other. He’s helping Trey spit into the sink – not onto the counter – and Buck feels his heart swell at the simple routine of it all. He puts his own toothbrush back into the cup and thanks his lucky stars for every moment like this, every night he gets to be a part of this. Every time life has caught him by surprise, every day that was better than the one before it, even when he hadn’t thought that would be possible. 

There are four toothbrushes on his counter, three people at the center of his world, and he thinks it again, _this is the best moment I’ve had in my life._

Because love, he’s come to learn, isn’t found in any of the obvious places to look.

Love starts with a toothbrush.

**Author's Note:**

> Well? Do y'all have teeth left to brush, or did I give them all cavities? Let me know what you think!  
> xoxo


End file.
